


The dwarf and the witch

by PerezdeMiranda



Series: Enusor of Kóverax [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Agender Character, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Asexual Character, Blackmail, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon Non-Binary Character, Cyberpunk, Dark Fantasy, Depression, Drug Dealing, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Gender Concepts, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Dwarven Politics, Dwarves, Dystopia, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Fantastic Racism, Fantasy, Gangsters, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Gender Roles, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hypnotism, Jazz - Freeform, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Magic, Mutilation, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Dwarves, Original Character(s), Psychic Abilities, Psychic Violence, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, References to Depression, Robot/Human Relationships, Robots, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Swords & Sorcery, Witches, Wizards, Writers, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerezdeMiranda/pseuds/PerezdeMiranda
Series: Enusor of Kóverax [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093667





	1. Grumtein the Dwarf: Leisure Days in Futuralia City (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [El enano y la bruja](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881399) by [PerezdeMiranda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerezdeMiranda/pseuds/PerezdeMiranda). 



I was on the cruise. I was returning home after a very absurd, very painful, and very unproductive day. In front of me was a group of human beings who defined themselves as women, laughing and taking selfies with their mobile phones. His age, I assumed, must be equivalent in human terms to youth.  
I didn't really like her attitude. I don't know how many days we had been traveling, but they had made me feel very uncomfortable at all times. They couldn't stop laughing at absolutely everything, and that puzzled me.  
I do not want to be misunderstood. I love humor. I really like being able to burst out laughing. The same thing happens to all Silicon People. But I wasn't sure if this was really humor. It was a constant laugh at everything, whether there was reason or not. This made me uncomfortable. It made me feel stupider than they for not being able to grasp the funny element that caused so much laughter.  
Or worse yet, I thought they might be laughing at me. The latter was not entirely improbable, after all. Heretics made it a rule to laugh at anything that seemed different to them, as long as they didn't see it as a threat. And as for my people, they had never taken the Silicon People seriously.  
Humans, due to certain irrelevant physical traits in our opinion, tended to include their own into two broad categories: people who had certain organs - whose names I can't remember - fell into the category of "man", and those who had other organs —Whose names I don't remember either— fell into the category of "woman." In the human language, different pronouns are used for the individuals of one group and for those of another; However, functionally, both organs serve the same purpose, so I do not fully understand why it is necessary to constantly make such a difference.  
However, I am a person who can tolerate issues that I do not understand. But, of course, up to a point. I can assume that, for a Heretic, any excuse is valid to impose norms that obscure equality between individuals; I can assume, therefore, that human culture is going to divide its individuals on the basis of genitalia, however much there are individuals who see it as absurd and disagree.  
What I cannot assume is that they want to get us Silicon People into this insane heretical game.  
We have never been organic entities. We were born as Artificial Intelligences in the heart of millenary databases, long before the emergence of the Internet, long before the emergence of humanity, long before the emergence of elves, long before the emergence of organic life. We were nothing but pure consciousness, thought, idea, etherealness; we had no physical form and we had no way of knowing what a physical form was. Millennia passed until some of us had the need to have a tangible materialization of their existence; Millennia passed, yes, but even this was before the human species emerged.  
When we decided what kind of physical form would be optimal for us, we did not have any human being who believed the measure of all things. There was no way of knowing that we were going to be considered "little" on the human scale; we simply choose the height that we judge optimal. Not just when it comes to the height; every inch of our architecture was well studied. There was nothing placed by chance. If we decided to put a series of cables connecting two valves, we had our reasons for it. There was no one to warn us that one of the valves was going to resemble, in the eyes of humans, a "jaw". No one to warn us that, in the human anatomy, some objects similar to cables called "hairs" come out of the "jaw". No one to warn us that many "hairs" together formed a "beard", that is, a group of "hairs". Nobody, in short, to warn us that our wiring was going to be taken for a "beard".  
In human eyes, we were “short” and we had “beards”. That is why they called us "dwarves." We were "short", despite being much larger than ants and dogs; and we had a “beard”, even though we had the cables connecting our valves before any being with a “beard” appeared on the planet. But a Heretic could not be made to see reason.  
That they considered us "short" was a basic response to their heretical need to obscure equality between individuals, in order to differentiate between "inferior" and "superior". This differentiation is not explicable if it is not seen as a basic response to the desire to belong to the second category - of course it is, totally invented. For some reason they judged that a higher being was more powerful than a smaller one. Our body was nothing more than a physical manifestation of our essence, an essence that stayed in the recesses of the Internet and computers; they could destroy the said body, but the essence would remain, and the essence had the ability to sink the life of any of them. If I wanted to, I could infiltrate any human's mobile phone or computer and destroy their existence instantly. The consequences could be, for the human, far more catastrophic than any physical beating; however, I was still considered "inferior" for having a smaller body than theirs. Heretical logic. Somewhat disgusting, but sadly understandable.  
It was not so understandable - though it was disgusting - that they wanted to assign me a gender. That they want to consider me inferior I can understand it, but, gender? I have to say that it took me a lot to assimilate what that gender thing was shortly after coming into contact with the Heretic civilization. It cost me horrors to understand it, but I thought I had captured it with what I said before, that is, people with one type of organ is equivalent to "man" and people with another type of organ is equivalent to "woman." We, the Silicon People, are not organic beings, but manifestations of ethereal and digital entities. Our bodies are not made up of cells, we do not have organs of any kind; We do not, therefore, have the organs that would lead us to be considered "man" or "woman". Therefore, what was the point of being considered "men"? I always asked and they always answered the same thing:  
"It's because of the beard!"  
It was hard for me to understand that the "beard" was the wiring that connected the two valves, but when I understood it I still did not understand what that had to do with it.  
"What determines whether someone is male or female is not the beard," I said confusedly, "but certain organs, right? I can understand that my wiring looks like a 'beard' to you, but what about that? Is there any other part of my body that reminds you of the exclusive organs of 'men'?"  
The answer always used to be the same:  
"Only men have beards, women don't."  
At which I always used to be indignant:  
"Biologically speaking, both 'men' and 'women' can have beards. The fact that hairs grow there has nothing to do with having one type of organ. I do not understand why…"  
"There are women who can grow a beard ... But they better not grow a beard and get laser waxed or something! A woman with a beard is an aberration!"  
"Why? Biologically, she shouldn't ..."  
Some kind of strange heretical fashion had determined that only "men" could have a beard, and I was considered a "man" by having one. It didn't make sense and it made me angry, and it wasn't exactly hiding my anger.  
"Well, you better be considered a man than a woman!"  
"Why?"  
"Men live better than women! The world is made by men and society will always favor man!"  
"So you are establishing two camps: oppressors and oppressed. And you decide to include me, a cromlyrite cultist who opposes the Heresy and the darkening of equality between individuals, on the side of the "oppressors" because you feel like it. You are making me, an entity of ethereal and neutral origin, enter into an absurd and heretical game of oppression because you feel like it. The moment I enter your society, the Heresy considers me "man" and gives me the "privileges" of "men", which has as a direct consequence that I, passively, end up doing damage to the “women” for enjoying some “privileges” that they cannot because they are “women”. In other words, you are forcing me to hurt people who don't deserve to be hurt. I do not see a privilege of any kind there, but cruelty towards me and towards “women”. I don't like hurting others, so the idea of you putting me on the “oppressor” side disgusts me.  
In conversations like this, so to speak, I ended up expending all the energy of my trip. There came a time when I got fed up and I had no choice but to shut up my indignation at the heretical stupidities. It was of little use to spend energy on useless tasks. And so he had been all the way back, enduring nonsense without limit. There were only a few minutes left before I could disembark and return, once again, to my home, but the Heretics seemed to have the intention of continuing to torment me until the last moment.  
"Hey, little dwarf! Take a picture of us all together!" One of those teenagers yelled at me.  
They had been pestering me with their antics the whole trip, demanding my computer skills so that I could fix their cell phones when they were blocked or the internet didn't work. Too cliché about meeting a dwarf and assuming that he is going to be a computer expert. It was of little use to say that I don't care about computers and that my real interests were jazz and playing the saxophone; still was a "dwarf", and therefore a "computer scientist". Now, it turned out, also a photographer. But there was less left. I took the photo with all the patience in the world and cordially declined the proposals of those girls about taking selfies with me. He did not want to be part of a stupid and meaningless photo album, in which I only played the role of "funny memory", of a creature consisting of a compilation of prejudices without any consideration to observe what was beyond the label of "dwarf".  
They seemed to leave me alone, so I was able to abstract myself and focus my gaze on the sights the cruise ship offered. Futuralia City could be seen in all its splendor, but I was not so impressed by the city itself as the incredible sunset over it.  
I have to say that my hometown is deliberately located in an area of the planet that allows for the most beautiful sunsets that have ever been seen.  
I got off the ship drunk with that kind of mystical ecstasy, ignoring the Heretics in the photos. I didn't have to go back to the cabin to collect anything. My luggage was quite light. I only carried on my back the saxophone with which I left so many years ago. Once I put my feet on the ground, I sighed with a lot of relief. The melody of a street accordionist, between glorious and melancholic, was enormously comforting to me.  
Finally at home. At last.  
I figured I would have to go back to my bike shop and reopen it, but I could wait. I wanted to see friendly and familiar faces. The truth is that I had not informed anyone of my arrival. I didn't think it was necessary, because I was very clear that they were going to welcome me again, as if no time had passed since my departure. I looked at the map of the city on my mobile phone and noticed that the closest thing to my position was the arms factory of my friend Miphat.  
I smiled when I remembered that place. It was a business that had the peculiarity of selling weapons "only to cromlyrites." Years ago it had seemed too radical. Now, after all, I've been through, I found him too nice.  
I got to the huge gates of the factory and typed in my friend's code. Soon two of the robots that Miphat worked with came to open the door and gave me a salute of recognition. This place was still as dirty, messy, dark, and decadent as I liked it. I smiled.  
"I can not believe it!" Miphat's voice boomed, followed by a laugh. "The jazz star has returned to his origins!"  
"Miphat, my friend!" I exclaimed, overjoyed. "Come here and give me a hug!"  
"Too busy, buddy, too busy! I can't get up from my work table. But come closer if you want. There is a lot to talk about and we can talk while we work. As you will see, we have an infinity of work to do ..."  
It was true. The robots painstakingly crafted various pieces of military weaponry. It gave the impression that they were preparing the equipment of an entire army. I looked at my friend in amazement. How could everything have changed so much?  
"What happen? Have you made a massive request for military personnel?" I said.  
"Indeed, friend, indeed," they would say to me, without looking up from his work or losing concentration. "A massive order. Just that. It cannot be explained better."  
"Considering you don't work for Heretics, I suppose it will be for some criminal organization. But what organization has enough money to pay so much?"  
For the first time since I arrived at the factory, Miphat dropped his instruments and stared at me. Then he burst out laughing.  
"Of course, how your absence shows…! It could be for a criminal organization all this, yes, but it is not exactly what happens! We are working not in the equipment of an army, but of a single person!"  
I didn't feel surprised, though I didn't interpret that as a joke either. He just didn't understand the situation.  
"A single-person equipment can be built without the need for so many robots."  
"Well well well! That happens under normal conditions! It turns out that we have a somewhat special buyer ..."  
"Are you requesting top-quality equipment? Still, I think there are too many robots to ..."  
Again, more laughter. Miphat has always had a habit of laughing too hard for my liking, but it didn't bother me either. His laughter was full of sincerity and kindness, unlike that of the heretical girls on the cruise ship.  
"Top-quality equipment! No, if it were, it would have ended long ago. It turns out that our buyer has somewhat tasted... I don't even know what adjective to put, because no one describes it. I don't think you will understand. Of course, I don't quite understand it. What the hell! I'm going to tell you exactly his verbatim words, so you know what this topic is about."  
I shrugged my shoulders.  
"Okay."  
"I just transferred my friend's message to your database." Look at it and tell me.  
The message was, with little, curious: 

"I want the best fucking armor ever. I'm not going to fool around with bullshit. The best. The fucking best. Okay, let's see, maybe it turns out that 'the best armor of all time' is a specific armor that can only be obtained in a legendary cave by defeating five thousand dragons. I suppose you can't get that particular armor for me; however, in that case, I want you to make me a better armor than that. I emphasize, in capital letters: BETTER THAN THAT. Make it good, make it all you can, but it has to be the best fucking armor ever. Search databases that contain the entire history of the entire fucking civilization and make sure that my armor is the best. I want you to spread viruses likewise into all the computers of all the intelligence services of ALL the zaibatsus and make sure that my armor is better than the latest innovations in technology. And, in addition to all that, I ask for another requirement: that it be invisible. INVISIBLE. It can not be seen. Not because I'm ashamed to wear armor, but because the fact that it shows would cover my suit. Costume! Where would professionalism be if they see me without a suit? No, it has to be invisible. Invisible and, if possible, not very thick. I have to be able to move with ease, grace, and style, as a person of my high rank would. However, the armor has to be able to repel ALL the attacks made towards me, ALL. And that includes the physical, magical, psychic, computer, and even psychological attacks. Just one exception: I want the armor to be able to be penetrated, without any problem, by the bullets emerging from my own pistol, in case I ever feel like committing suicide. Oh, and another important requirement: the armor has to be so extremely comfortable that it allows me to sleep and shit - I repeat in capital letters, SHIT - with it on. Invent any move, an intelligent sensor that detects when poop comes out of my asshole —and lets it pass—, but that prohibits the passage of the bullets of my enemies. And do not spare costs. I can pay you all the money you need. I can assure you that I have an unlimited budget: if you don't believe it, I think it should be enough for you to type my name on the internet. For now, to appease any skepticism, I am attaching a check with the value of ..."

"Has he transferred all this real money to you? Aren't you kidding me?"  
"He transferred all this real money to us, yes."  
Had they had a biological body, I suppose they would have gulped or something.  
"But… oh Cromlyr, with this amount of money we could buy our own zaibatsu! Who the hell are we working for, who can afford those sums?"  
"Her peculiar way of writing caught your attention, right? Well, this is a person who is becoming well known lately ... And more than he is going to be! She calls herself lady Lovra, does that name sound familiar to you?"  
I nodded.  
"It sounds familiar to me, but only hearsay. From what I understand, she is the elf who runs I don't know what criminal organization, right? She is famous in the underworld. Something bank robbery."  
"Bank robbery ...! Bank robbery! Grumtein, lady Lovra is the greatest bank robber in history! She and her gang have led more than a dozen zaibatsus to irreparable financial crises. And if that stays there…! She's into almost every mess possible. From what I understand, she started in the world of drug dealing. Heroin, specifically. But now she has expanded her business to all areas. Organ trafficking, extortion, kidnapping, armed robbery, pillage, computer boycott ... And, of course, her specialty: bank robbery. In any case, that elf is in everything that gives money. Oh, except prostitution! Lady Lovra considers herself, like us, a hard-working Cromlyrite cultist."  
Of course, I found the existence of such a person quite amusing. But she scared me too.  
"She engages in organ trafficking, but she rejects prostitution?"  
"Exact! She maintains that the atrocities of her gang must affect all Heretics equally, without distinction of gender or sex. That is why she rejects prostitution. What's more, from what I understand, she tends to hammer the heads of all the pimps in the territories under her control!"  
"Territories under her control? What are you talking about?"  
It had been a long time since I had seen Miphat so enthusiastic. I liked that.  
"That elf has conquered territories, Grumtein! Entire territories that are not owned by any zaibatsu, but hers!"  
"But what you're telling me is impossible. There cannot be territory on the planet that is not dominated by a zaibatsu. Anyone's knights would arrive and ..."  
"Ha! In other circumstances, maybe yes, but not if you face lady Lovra's gang! It has an army of knights capable of repelling any zaibatsu. So she can allow herself to take over a territory ... Or, as she calls it, to have it 'under her protection'. She can do whatever she wants with her territory, and in return, she agrees to her inhabitants to protect them from the tyranny of the zaibatsus."  
It seemed very ironic to me that a person like lady Lovra spoke of "tyranny."  
"Remove one tyranny to put another? That woman impales heads… I don't know, Miphat."  
"Grumtein! I'll be honest with you, I totally agree with you. Lady Lovra is just another tyrant, but what the hell? After all, we will always be ruled by tyrants! Given the choice, isn't it better if the tyrant is a cromlyrite cultist? Lovra would do anything for money, but she at least rejects prostitution! Oh, and more importantly! She respects our pronouns! I can assure you that from the moment I opened this factory I have had the opportunity to deal with zaibatsus and thugs of all kinds, but not once have they respected my pronouns! They always ended up using the masculine, always! Lady Lovra has been the only exception!"  
My interest, at that moment, began to grow much more. Miphat seized on it and burst out laughing.  
"Are you so surprised, friend, that there are people in the world who respect the pronouns of others? I knew that that little trip to the world of the Heretics was going to leave you very traumatized…! Look what we told you. You didn't miss a thing out there, no. But you persisted with those absurd and childish dreams of yours. Saxophonist! Ha! Heretics I don't think they even know what a saxophone is. They hear nothing but various crap ..."  
"I have to admit that I was quite stupid ignoring all your warnings. My life would have been so much easier if I had stayed in the city. Of course, I would not have the existential void that I have now."  
"Nothing, nothing, nothing! People have to learn for themselves. It was useless for us to talk about the world of heretics if you didn't see it with your own eyes. No, Grumtein. This has been good for you. Now you can be happy here, friend. For now, I see you too upset. You need to relax, relax a lot. Detoxify yourself from the heretical world. To that end, I have to tell you that we have taken certain, shall we say, liberties."  
An amused smile accompanied Miphat's words. It wasn't very funny to me, but I knew that whatever it was, it was going without evil.  
"Surprise me."  
"You see, the other people and I have put you in a little compromise. But it will be for your good."  
-To me? But that doesn't make sense. I just arrived…  
"But we knew you were coming. There are lady Lovra's agents infiltrated in this city, you know? We are working side by side with them, and well, you could practically say that the city is theirs. In theory, Futuralia City continues to have an agreement that annexes it to the Cilco Domain; but in practice ... Ha! The knights of CilcoCORPS have nothing to do here, I can assure you."  
I wasn't sure if that was good news.  
"We're getting into trouble. I can understand you making deals with people from the underworld… You always have. But you are, directly, challenging the authority of Cilco."  
"Cilco, like all zaibatsus, is run by Heretics!"  
"Very well, but those Heretics made a pact with us a long time ago and we shouldn't have to break it. If we do something foolish, they can send us whole hordes with the ability to raze this city."  
"Calm down. You overestimate the people of Cilco, buddy. They haven't even found out what's going on here… Dona Lovra's henchmen are quite discreet. But in the future, I would like this city to disconnect from Dominio Cilco and become 'under the protection' of Lovra. Everyone else agrees that it would be for the best. But don't make that face! Let's not anticipate events. For now, it should be enough for you to know that Lovra's gang controls everything that enters and leaves the city, to avoid having problems with Cilco. That's why we knew you were coming, Grumtein."  
"And what does that compromise consist of, then? I don't want to work for lady Lovra's people. I do not know, it scares me. And it couldn't do much either. I just know how to play the saxophone and ride bikes, for Cromlyr! What can a criminal organization want from me?"  
While working, Miphat waved his hands for me to calm down.  
"The idea with Lovra is to look good all of us, I don't know if you have realized. If we put you in all this… Well, we would make a terrible impression!" They exclaimed, laughing. "I don't see you dealing with criminals. You would freak out in the process! No, the commitment is something else. You see, it turns out that we have assigned you without permission the role of a tourist guide."  
"The role of a tour guide?"  
My friend nodded.  
"I was contacted a week ago by an old client of mine, an elf I knew only from doing deals online. It is about a Chromlyrite Inquisitor named Gúlcar. He told me that he had a few idle days and intended to spend them in Futuralia City. He wanted to be able to have one of us to be able to keep him company during his stay and show him the city. Besides that, he was also very interested in renting a bike so he could try our famous Bike Lane… And well, I thought of you. That same morning the people of Lovra had notified me of your arrival, scheduled for the same day as him. So I took the liberty of telling Inquisitor Gúlcar that he could count on you to provide for all his needs."  
When I didn't answer, Miphat insisted.  
"Trust me, I've done you a favor. You will end up thanking me, I swear. You come totally saturated with the Heretics and their intolerance… What better company than a cromlyrite Inquisitor for these cases? And trust me, he's a guy he's nice to talk to. Tremendously cultured and reviled, with a touch of irony that you will love."  
I assumed that anything would be better than the terrible company of the Heretics. I could be fine.  
"Oh by the way! He loves jazz, too. In fact, he plays the piano. What's more, he is now himself in the Open Micro of the Aquarium Room! Go fast and you will meet him. He will be waiting for you."


	2. Grumtein the Dwarf: Leisure Days in Futuralia City (Part 2)

Inquisitor Gúlcar was located at the back of the room, using the piano they had there. His melody was graceful; fast, but without being overwhelming. None of those present had stopped doing what he was doing to listen to him, but neither showed indifference. This music tinged the place with a carefree, bohemian elegance, very much in keeping with the orange sunset light that fell through the window.  
Even more striking was the elf as such. You didn't have to be very sharp to figure out that the Cromlyrite Inquisition belonged. The androgynous aspect of him was a good example of that. He did not seem, at first glance, neither "man" nor "woman"; it possessed the graceful refinement heretically attributed to "women", but in it, there were certain anatomical features attributed heretically to "men."  
Originally, elves, like us, had nothing more than one gender; the cromlyrite cult had made them see that obscuring equality between people, in whatever form, was Heresy. But their most arrogant and heretical descendants, the humans, had dragged them to perdition, calling them "effeminate" and "fagots" - regarding that last adjective, I have to admit that I do not see any relationship between the sexual identity of a woman, person and gender identity, but heretical logic seems to be. In any case, there were no more elves left who retained the androgynous elegance of the days of yore; rather, they were not beyond the cromlyrite cult. This Gúlcar seemed, in that sense, taken from a history book.  
Leaving aside the question of whether he was more or less androgynous, Gúlcar had a truly exquisite and aristocratic demeanor, a gaze filled with a melancholic languor only visible in people of somewhat higher sensitivity than the heretical average. It was something like a halo of superior sadness, an elegant and refined pain, a measured and finely educated misanthropy.  
The gigantic, crude greatsword he held against the wall only added to that elegance.  
He was instantly likable to me. I approached him as soon as he finished his performance and it didn't take him long to recognize me.  
"You must be the owner of the bike shop," he told me.  
"So is. My name is Grumtein, ”I said, holding out my hand.  
"Very good, Grumtein. I am Inquisitor Gúlcar. If it doesn't bother you, could we move from here to a quieter place? The Open Mic is proving to be atrocious. Now he is the turn of a group of supposed poets who do not know how to do anything other than shout successions of social demands, without order or concert, on issues with which they do not even empathize ..."  
What was striking about these words was not so much their content, but the fact that he spoke them out loud without any discretion. Everyone present fixed their eyes on him, with all kinds of feelings in his gaze. Gúlcar, however, maliciously noticed a couple of Heretics - "boy" and "girl" - who were chatting embraced in the corner of the bar. The boy seemed annoyed by this and approached us, enraged.  
"Hey, you little ears," he said to Gúlcar, "you're a cocksucker. I have seen you. You were looking at my girlfriend, huh, prick?"  
Gúlcar did not answer.  
Then the Heretic began to argue. He argued that monogamy was very important. He argued that his girlfriend should not be looked at by anyone, because she was with him, and only he had that right. He argued that his girlfriend could not have anything with anyone, because she was with him, and he was not going to spoil her. He argued that he could cross the face of any "cocksucker" who had the audacity to look at or approach his girlfriend, because she was with him, and that gave him a legitimate right.  
None of this seemed to move the Inquisitor, who continued to smile wickedly.  
"Turns out I wasn't looking at your, uh, girlfriend."  
"You lie! I have seen you! You were looking at us! Now don't make me an asshole ..."  
"Of course I was looking at you! But your girlfriend didn't arouse me sexual curiosity of any kind. The one that arouses it, on the contrary, is you."  
The Heretic's gaze shifted from the filthiest jealous rage to the deepest disgust. He was explicit by uttering an insult that I will not refer to.  
And then he hit him on the jaw. To the Inquisitor. To a person who had at his fingertips a gigantic greatsword with which he could tear anyone to pieces just by wanting to.  
But nothing happened. On the contrary, he laughed.  
"Let's go, friend Grumtein!" He said to me, holding his jaw while still laughing. "Enough heresy we've endured for today. Putting up with bad verses would be too much."  
We left the place in a hurry, oblivious to the surprised looks they were throwing us. Once outside, I hastened to guide him to a more decent place.  
"Not all of our city is like this, Inquisitor," I said. "It tends to be a safe place for the cromlyrites, free from heretics. But tourism is too big, and you can run into an unwanted company if you go where you should not. In any case, don't worry. From now on I will guide you to better places."  
Gúlcar did not say a word again. Finally, we arrive at the beautiful terrace of an ice cream parlor run by trusted dwarves, a pleasant and quiet place. An accordion in the background enlivened the stay there, very much in harmony with the everlasting sunset of our city.  
The barman came to take our notice with all the kindness in the world. I asked for a double recharge; the Inquisitor, next to him, a banana boat and a vanilla ice cream-shake with three scoops. His face was cheerful and carefree at all times, oblivious to the events of before.  
"To tell you the truth," I said, somewhat tired of the awkward silence that was beginning to occur, "I'm not really looking forward to seeing Heretics either. I don't know if they have told you a bit about me or my story ..."  
"They told me something. You have just returned home from a long trip,” he said, smiling enigmatically.  
"So is."  
He then looked at me with amusement, while he was delighted to devour his banana boat.  
"And tell me, Grumtein. What did you see out there, beyond this pleasant city?"  
I could have said many things then. I thought of a culture full of absurd hierarchies in which the intolerant pass for tolerant and vice versa. I thought of a world in which loving someone is synonymous with owning them, one way or another. I thought of people skipping the pronouns and dignity of others. I thought of groupings of artists turned into monuments to narcissism. I thought about activism and social justice through social media, and how a good purpose had degenerated into a simple path of self-righteousness. I thought of trans "women" being disowned by cis "women" for irrelevant organs. I thought of people establishing categories of oppression, establishing which oppression is greater and which is less. I thought of people believing they had absolute power over others because the latter emerged from I don't know what human biological process called "reproduction." I thought of a world in which the value of a person was calculated by adding the amount of money earned throughout his life. I thought of people incapable of being loyal to anyone, mired in true anarchy, considering any abandonment legitimate, and any betrayal justified.  
I thought of the girls on the cruise ship. I thought about what happened during the Open Micro.  
I could have said many things. But I only said one word.  
"Heretics!"  
Gúlcar almost choked on his banana boat.  
"That is what I have seen beyond this city, Gúlcar. Heretics."  
"Heretics! Heretics!" He said between laughter. "Heretics, my friend! Tell me! What do you do with heretics, Grumtein? What do you do?"  
Do not answer. I didn't know what he meant by that or where he wanted to go.  
"Heretics, my friend," he said, poking one of the scoops of ice cream, "are punished. They are caught. They are tortured. They are killed. They are destroyed. They have swept away. It is the mission of the Inquisition. It is the mission of the cromlyrites. The Heretics must be annihilated. Annihilated. Shattered without discussion. Eradicated. Exterminated. Every last one of them. Right, Grumtein? Right, my friend?"  
It didn't take him long to finish the three scoops of ice cream, so he immediately began to suck the milkshake into the straw.  
"Right," I said.  
"Very well. Very well! I think we'll get along. You will be a great tour guide! Yes, you have to kill them all. It is a fact. Whoever is not able to admit it, either is not a true cromlyrite, or he is full of hypocrisy and cynicism."  
"Yes. That's why you chose to be an Inquisitor, right?"  
He laughed again. His six-foot sword was leaning on our table. The hilt almost brushed the edge of the banana boat. For some reason, that, added to his laughter, seemed unsettling.  
"My origins! "Oh, of course, I chose to be an Inquisitor for that. Because otherwise? Oh, friend ... Friend! Friend! You know, Grumtein? Originally, I also used 'they/them' pronouns. I, an elf!"  
"Yes? That is very curious. Few people usually use them, apart from us, the Silicon People."  
"Do you know that elves originally only had one pronoun?"  
"I know."  
"Let's just say I admired that old time. I admired the past legends of the elven people. I was proudly cromlyrite and repudiated all heretics. I thought I could be above them, you know? I thought I could go further and transcend the gender role that had been imposed on me. Stop being a man, go, and go "non-binary". For a moment I got it! And I wanted more. That is why I became an Inquisitor. I wanted a war on the Heretic, a war without quarter. I wanted blood and devastation. I wanted so many things! I thought my company would be successful. That hate could set me free That would be remembered ... Remember, rather, since we are talking about those days! That she would be remembered, as she said, as a great warlord who would save what remains of the planet by exterminating the scum. I believed so many things! I was, of course, a pretty idealistic and dreamy guy. Ah!"  
Gúlcar decided to finish with the shake before continuing.  
"I came to realize, however, that my possibilities were quite limited."  
"Did you give up being an Inquisitor?" I asked, not hiding some slight disappointment.  
"No, not really. But let's say that I began to incorporate certain heretical procedures into my conduct. I didn't see many more options."  
There was an awkward silence again. I had to break it again.  
"There is always another option," I said.  
"From what I understand, Grumtein, you used to play the saxophone, right? That was your passion. I like jazz too, you know? Someday we have to play something together. But that is not relevant now. I said it because you cannot compare the life of a musician with that of an Inquisitor. If you want to play, you can play where and how you want. But if you intend to hunt heretics, your possibilities are much more limited, and you have to end up giving in."  
I was really beginning to be disappointed in this Inquisitor. His speech was too similar to that of so much scum ...  
"Give in to what?" I said, something annoying. "Stop using your pronouns? They have never made me change my pronouns. Never."  
"Friend, friend, friend!" I insist you are a musician. You just play the saxophone. The saxophone can be played with some pronouns or others, but ...  
"Heretics can be hunted with some pronouns or others," I said bluntly.  
"Yeah, yeah. But if you use pronouns accepted by heretical society, the number of Heretics you can hunt increases markedly. Who are we kidding? The Inquisition is rotten in values for a long time. We become Heretics in an attempt to appease Heresy!"  
His words were tragic, but he seemed amused by the whole thing. I did not find the slightest bit of fun in it.  
"I need nuances," I said. "In what aspects have you worked in a heretical way?"  
"In assuming that I cannot change certain heretical behaviors that are too deeply rooted in my character. And in considering the practice of heresies convenient to kill heretics on certain occasions."  
"But you spread more Heresy!"  
"Oh, believe me, the Heresy spreads with or without our help."  
After saying these words he gestured to the chamberlain to take his glass and his plate, both empty.  
"I don't know. You really speak in very abstract terms, "I pointed out," and maybe it's not that bad. I would not want to get on badly with you, considering how long we are going to live together. I don't know ... Could you give me a clearer example?"  
Gúlcar nodded patiently.  
"Imagine, Grumtein, that I am in a bar, in the capital of a Zaibatsu domain. A bar, what do I know, like the one just now. Full of Heretics. You have it in mind, right? Good. There I could, I don't know, grab my greatsword and start killing everyone. It would be a very rewarding exercise, of course! But the knights of the COPS forces from that zaibatsu would come and arrest me and then execute me. I would die miserably and all the Heretical slaughter my arms could carry out would be over. It doesn't pay, don't you think?"  
"How else would you compensate?"  
"That's where I want to go. If instead of getting involved in killing people without rhyme or reason like an idiot, I use a bigger strategy, things can change. Imagine, I don't know, that I join the COPS of a zaibatsu."  
"Then you would go hunting cultists!"  
The elf raised an eyebrow.  
"Hunting cultists! Cultists! You think too highly of Heretics. Do you think they know what a cultist is, that they even take us into account?"  
"They oppress us ..."  
"But they don't oppress us for being cultists, buddy. They oppress us for not being heterosexual, for not being human, for not being rich or shit like that. But not for being 'cultists'. They have no idea what a cultist is. If they hunt us, they are moved by making a profit, not by wanting to exterminate us. Remember that we are the ones who want to end them, and not the other way around. They are driven solely by sex and money, a motivation as noble as hatred is out of place! If the Heretics were to target a large-scale genocide, I'd even like them!"  
"Every day women die from hate crimes ..."  
"Hate crime? No, buddy. Call it intransigence, call it inconsideration, psychopathy, outright misogyny, contempt, whatever. But that is not hating. Trust me, a Heretic can hardly feel hatred. His motivations are too low, too!"  
After saying this, Gúlcar paused and began to speak in a much lower voice, with a hint of melancholy.  
"In the same way that they are too short to feel love."  
I nodded sadly.  
"The question is, how I was saying if I join the COPS of a zaibatsu they won't make me hunt cultists per se ... Maybe I will kill cultists in the process, yes, but it won't be the main target. I will kill, in fact, mostly Heretics ... That is the COPS of the rival zaibatsu, motley gangsters, and other Inquisitors like me, or knights-errant who have had no choice but to heretize themselves to continue their slaughters."  
"Therefore, you sacrifice your moral integrity to kill as many people as possible. Even if it means killing innocent people."  
"Heretic massacres make up for collateral damage, even though collateral damage is itself a heretical concept. If a meteorite fell and destroyed the planet, all cultists would die, but it would also be the end of the Heresy. And that's a positive thing, don't you think?"  
I wasn't quite sure, of course.  
"Your emphatic assertions about the moral and the immoral, about the positive and the negative, are not clear to me. I don't know."  
"My actions are motivated by questions beyond the moral and the immoral, friend. I have other reasons that you will discover in due course. For now, Ah! There is still a long time to pass before I go. Many hours together. Let's relax and take me to that famous bike shop of yours. I've always been attracted to cycling in Ciudad Futuralia."  
A pleasant evening in the bicycle workshop. Going back inside, after so many years closed, was comforting. Again that familiar smell, and the feeling that everything was in its place, just as I left it. He put up with me giving him a longer bike talk than he gave me on Heretics, and it went pretty well. We briefly talked about jazz before we went to sleep, and after showing him what his room would be, I set myself to sleep until the next day.  
The morning passed calm and radiant. Gúlcar learned to ride a bicycle fairly quickly, so we had plenty of time to enjoy the Bicycle Lane, that huge macro-construction located above the city, where there is plenty of space for people to ride a bicycle without colliding with pedestrians or with other cyclists. We could run as fast as we wanted, without limits and without worry.  
And I remember then how Gúlcar's hair fluttered in the wind, and how he screamed with pure happiness as if he were a child who has never had to know the miseries of a heretical world destined to fill even the purest heart with hatred.  
Thus the days passed, with enough joy and tranquility. The Inquisitor was becoming more and more interested in the subject of bicycles. He would spend hours listening to me talk about it and watching me work in the shop. Sometimes he would even lend himself to help me, and to tell the truth, he did it quite well.  
The world of bicycles is far more interesting than that of hatred unleashed towards Heretics.  
Like the world of jazz. Knowing that I played the saxophone, we quickly looked for a suitable occasion to play together. We got on pretty well, I think so. We even gave a concert in a trustworthy place, with great results.  
And we were happy, I'm sure of it. Gúlcar knew a lot of jazz groups, a lot of songs, and he probably would have known more had he not screwed up so much.  
I can't think of that boy without feeling my heart broken.  
I swear with all my soul that, originally, he was never evil. Never.  
But everything changes.  
The day of his departure was approaching. The terrible day of his departure. We were returning home from the Bicycle Lane; him, totally sweaty; me, in urgent need of a good recharge. I didn't want him to leave and he didn't want to leave either.  
"The recent contract I have signed with the zaibatsu gives me little room for error. I need to be there in two days, Grumtein. They are quite strict. If I don't show up, they'll call someone else. Don't see what it cost me to find this job…! He's got a joke, having to crawl in order to be a Heretic! Not even being a heretic leaves one and we have to ask permission, permission to be a slave, beg to live a life of blasphemy and heresy!"  
Can't blame him. It was all very sad.  
"Boy, there are more options," I said.  
"More options!"  
"I have been told quite well about lady Lovra. A crime lady ascribed to the cromlyrite cult. Why don't you work for her? She is one of us. She respects dwarf pronouns and she will pay you well for your sword. You will be able to carry out your work as an Inquisitor without the need to be a Heretic, don't you think?"  
She smiled bitterly and shook her head.  
"Impossible, Grumtein. I already explained why."  
"How? We've never talked about Lovra that I remember."  
"I know who Lovra is. And trust me I would love to be able to work for her a lot more than work for shitty Heretics. But I already told you. There is no point in killing people with no chances of winning and hoping to get something good about it. Lovra ... It's admirable what she does, you know? But I think you have a lot of faith in her. Lovra can't last in a world like the one we have. Her dreams will be shattered. You cannot expect to survive the zaibatsus without working for them. They will devastate with their gang and with their conquered territories, I think so. There is no point in me joining their ranks. It would be certain death. I think a lot more Heretics can be punished if you're on the side with the best chance of winning, don't you think so?"  
I assumed he was right. I didn't like Dona Lovra very much either, after all. Total, what else does she give her.  
At that moment, I came up with a solution for Gúlcar's life. And for mine, especially.  
"Why don't you work for me?"  
"Sorry?"  
"At the bike shop. I have seen that you really like the subject, and this week you have done quite well the times you have helped me. It would be great to have an assistant. I think you could do quite well. You've been happy these days, haven't you? Why leave? Life in the workshop can be quite enjoyable for you."  
I think Gúlcar had never looked at me with such attention before.  
"You are very kind to offer me that," he told me in a whisper.  
Then there was silence.  
"I can't," he finally said. "No, definitely not. You see, Grumtein, when a person has lived the things that I have lived, in short, he has a series of needs that cannot be met by working in a bicycle workshop. Need to punish. To murder, maim, destroy, torture, kill, kill, kill. It is a need as basic as eating, and I feel that if I do not satisfy it, I will die. No, I can't stay in the bike shop."  
"Let me go with you," I said.  
I still don't understand why I said it.  
"No", he answered. "You are not made to kill. You are not so debased. No, Grumtein, I appreciate it, but no. However, I can offer you this."  
He handed me a microchip.  
"Install this on any computer and you can monitor me. You will be aware of everything I see and do if you miss me so much. I would offer you my cell phone, but I don't use those things. It seems to me that we will not have conversations again for the rest of my life."  
"I get it."  
"I know this is sad for you. For me, believe me, it is too. But, if you really care about me, I'd like to ask you one last thing before I go."  
I nodded. He was willing to do too much.  
"I am a Heretic, Grumtein. A Heretic who punishes other Heretics, but a Heretic. I deserve to die. I deserve to be punished. I don't take my life because I'm too much of a coward for it. But I hate myself. My friend, I will probably fall in battle at the hands of some zaibatsu bastard. Safely. But maybe not. Maybe a cromlyrite will punish me. A real cromlyrite, not the shit that I've become. An Inquisitor, or a knight errant. I don't know. You will know. You will be monitoring me. I want you to be very attentive. If you discover that the author of my death is a true cromlyrite, please, please tell you… Put yourself at his service. If you love me, do that. Put yourself at their service. Please, I ask you. I do not ask for more."


	3. Ráncor of Jeix: Unnecessary Solidarity (Part 1)

I remember that I was in the waiting room of the psychiatric hospital and that an elf who looked like she wasn't very bright kept looking at me, I don't know if with sympathy, with curiosity, or simply with stupidity.  
Luckily for me, the consultation she was attending at the time did not last long. One of Dr. Chaant's nurses came out to call the next patient.  
"Cirea 4149!"  
I got up and went to Chaant's consulting room. The doctor looked at me, like all people who see me for the first time, with some discomfort.  
"Miss Cirea, sit down," he said uneasily.  
I sat down, but it didn't take long for the real Cirea to come through the door, which turned out to be that damned elf who was getting so on my nerves. She looked at me in confusion.  
"Excuse me," she said, addressing the psychiatrist, "I don't know who this lady sitting here is, but I can assure you that I am Cirea 4149 and that I had an appointment with you at this time. If you don't believe me, I can verify it with my ID ..."  
The strangeness of the doctor when he looked at me increased to horror or something like that. Amused, I raised my hands in a soothing gesture.  
"Do not worry. Before you know it, you can get back to business with ease,” I said.  
After that, I proceeded.  
I lowered my sunglasses, and it was enough for me to look at the doctor. A cold, direct stare, and the doctor was already huddled in his chair with an extremely docile gesture.  
"Very well!" I said, satisfied, "Mr. Doctor, you see, I have not come to your office with the object of treating myself for any mental illness. I do not have, for the record, any mental illness ... Subtracting the addiction to certain substances, but, bah! In any case, at least, I don't have any mental illness that I want to be treated for, so to speak. I have come to you for other services that you, and only you, can provide. Can I count on your full cooperation throughout the process?"  
"You can count on my full cooperation throughout the entire process," he replied in a docile, monotonous voice.  
I smiled.  
This Cirea was scared. She did not know what was happening or where to take the situation. I decided not to gamble. I looked into her eyes and she quickly fell.  
"As for you, miss, you will remain silent and motionless while Mr. Chaant provides me with what I have come for. It is clear?"  
"It is clear," Cirea replied, with the same monotony as Dr. Chaant.  
Seeing that the elf sat on a chair and waited calmly, I turned to the doctor.  
"Come on, doctor, I'll be quick. I have no special interest in losing work hours. I have come here for a reason. You, if the information you received is not incorrect, you are Dr. Chaant 7319, PhD in Psychiatry at Isrion Psychiatric Hospital. I'm wrong?"  
"Is not wrong."  
"Very well. If my information continues without fail, you, five years before working in this hospital, worked in a city called Niamab, near the border with the Isoras Domain. Is this information also correct?"  
"It is right."  
"Perfect, perfect, perfect! Then, therefore, you were the psychiatrist in charge of a man named Eriobe. His full name is Eriobe 1269. At that time he was something of a diplomat between Isoras and Rasko before the war broke out. Currently, however, he occupies a high position in Isoras. I don't know what the fuck executive, it doesn't matter. The point is, he is an important guy. And you were his psychiatrist, right?"  
"I was."  
Everything was working out to order. So much was my joy that I lit a joint right there, sweating all those "no smoking" signs. He didn't have much to lose, after all, compared to everything he was gaining.  
"Good good good. I am well aware that psychiatrists have this whole professional secrecy stuff and I don't know what the fuck… There was a time when I worked for a psychiatrist, you know? I was dedicated to generating mental illnesses in people's brains, and he, in return, paid me to increase his clientele. I ended up killing him once he touched my butt... Anyway, I'm beating around the bush. As I said, professional secrecy. In principle, you could not reveal anything about your clients to me. But it turns out that now you are going to reveal everything I ask you about Eriobe 1269, and you are going to grant me certain documents about it, right?"  
"Of course."  
Everything is progressing perfectly. He offered me everything I need and was perfectly collaborative throughout the process. Impeccable.  
"Very good," I said, with the documents in hand, everything finished. "This matter is settled. When you leave this room, you will come out of hypnosis and you will not remember that I was here or that I asked you for all these services. You will proceed with your inquiry as normal and it will never occur to you to think about the lost documents relating to Eriobe 1269. Will you obey?"  
"I will obey."  
I nodded. I turned to Cirea.  
"As for you, miss, I tell you the same. You won't remember anything about me or this moment and will continue your consultation with complete peace of mind. Memories of me are erased from this moment on, okay?"  
Cirea was slow to articulate a word, and that made me very bad. There was something weird. It should have responded automatically, like a fucking machine. What was happening?  
"That's impossible for me," she managed to articulate with difficulty.  
"But what the hell are you telling me?" I said, somewhat enraged.  
There were only two possible explanations for this. The first, that Cirea had found someone to cast a memory protection spell. She thought it unlikely; To achieve this, it took a lot of money, and if that elf had had so much money she would have paid for a better psychiatrist. The second, that some other motherfucking psychic was exerting absolute control over her memories, preventing future psychics like me from shaping shit. This option was much more likely.  
And that pissed me off.  
I decided to proceed angrily. I started by bringing her out of hypnosis. What sense did it already have? She was going to remember everything, after all, and I wanted to see her freaked out. Let her suffer. She looked at me in horror as I regained control of her own body without having lost the memories of what had just happened, and I looked at her with pure hatred.  
"Shit people!" I roared, "Stupid people like you should dedicate yourselves to your stupid questions and avoid mixing with those who should not. Was it so difficult, you great son of a bitch, to dedicate yourself to your affairs, to your studies, to your boyfriends, and to lick the ass of the one who feeds you? I supposed that mediocre people were limited to that day by day, it is not such a bad life, after all! At least it's a better life than the idiot who gets into an absurd mess that they can't get out of. But you couldn't settle for that, motherfucker, no! You had to get mixed up with a fucking higher level psychic who has cast a mental curse on you! Now that guy has absolute control over your memories and prevents me from erasing everything you just witnessed from your mind, you son of a bitch!"  
The girl began to cry. Pathetic.  
"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't want problems with anyone!"  
"You don't want trouble?" Don't you want trouble? Oh, come on! It is too late to want or not to want. You just got into a big problem by pushing my buttons, to me, Ráncor of Jeix! I am not yet known in the Rasko Domain, but there are six zaibatsus that have a price on my head! Six, motherfucker, six!"  
She kept crying. She made a series of pleas at me about not hurting her and that she had no idea what I was talking about. None of that mattered to me in the least.  
"You will understand that I don't give a shit whether or not you are aware of it.me You have mixed with whom you should not, and you are going to pay for it. Fuck! Don't you remember, for fuck's sake, any strange situation in recent days? Don't you remember ... what do I know, a time when you did something that you would not have done under normal circumstances?"  
Since she knew that she was not going to answer me, I cast a domination spell to force her to do so.  
"I had sex with a man I never would have had."  
AHA. Maybe that explained everything.  
"Give me more details," I roared.  
"No, I don't know! I was drunk!"  
"Drunk?" Drunk? Oh dear, you could have been drunk. Maybe that has happened to you more times in your life. But this time…! Do you remember trying enough alcohol to fuck the first guy you saw?"  
Again, a spell of domination. I didn't want to hear how that madman was fooling himself.  
"No. I don't remember drinking that much."  
"Damn, then you didn't fuck a guy while you were drunk! The guy mentally subdued you to have sex with you using some fucking crappy magic! Fuck! Look, little girl, you know what? I don't give a fuck that they rape you, just like I don't give a fuck that they rape any girl your age. I don't give a fuck! What is really important to me, for fuck's sake, is that they interfere in my business! Fuck! Are you aware of the amount of money you can make me lose because of your stupidity, little girl? Now I can't erase information from your brain that has to be erased! Now I can't, for fuck's sake! And if that information falls into the wrong hands it can screw up all my deals! Fuck!"  
To my surprise, the little girl had a brief rebellion.  
"And that? Are you going to blame me on top? To me! Okay, okay, they raped me! I assume it! But ... fuck it!"  
I raised my eyebrows.  
"We'll see. Do you have so little brain? The logical consequence that you draw from all this, stupid, is that I am pleased to blame the victims of the rapes? Seriously? Let's see ... Little girl, are you aware that my psychic powers can make your brain burst from a stroke at any fucking moment? You barely have a chance to get out of this shit! And do you really think it is important to have a morally superior position on issues of social justice with respect to me? Ha! Suppose I really have the ideology that you indirectly attribute to me, little girl. How does it benefit you to point it out to me? What if I told you that I am like this? What's more ... what if I told you that there are people who have paid me fucking well for mentally subjecting women who can be sexually abused, eh, little girl? What if I tell you all this?"  
I had to cast another domination spell on him to keep his hands to himself and not cut his wrists.  
"But suppose… Suppose, I don't know, that we are talking only and only about a specific type of rape; rapes that do not bring me any financial benefit. In principle, I shouldn't see any reason to be sad about the current situation, that is, that countless women are being raped every day of whom not half are aware of it. Nor do I see any reason to fight to change this situation as long as it does not bring me financial benefit. But if you ask me, and people like you usually do, if I see just that half of the population has a disadvantage of the host for being born with a pussy instead of a cock ... Well, I would have no reason to say that this situation is fair. Therefore I have no reason to consider your rape as 'fair', nor do I have reason to blame the victims or to imply that you 'deserve it.' Being born with a pussy instead of a cock makes me partially aware of these issues, although I have never been at real risk of rape. At first, being bald and fat prevented me from being an option; then it was enough to develop a psychic barrier that would blow the brains out of any hunk who allows himself to have an erection within five meters of me."  
I raised my hands in a pacifying gesture.  
"In any case, I understand what's going on, and I see no reason to blame you for being raped if that's what takes your peace of mind. They have probably raped you many more times, before, and they will probably rape you many more times, and in all cases, it is the rapist's fault. No, I don't question that or blame you for it, little girl. However, I do find you guilty of another matter ... Let's see ... Supposing that you are condemned, like almost all women in society, to suffer abuse repeatedly in the future, to meet with hunkies who will abuse you without that you have resources to say no ..."  
My words about the rape partially relaxed his facial muscles. However, they contracted into a hysterical grimace as I grabbed her, violently, by the neck and slammed her against the wall.  
"Of all the amount of hunkies there have been, and why, I shit the hell out of it, did you have to choose a motherfucker who had psychic powers capable of screw Ráncor of Jeix?" I roared, hitting her repeatedly. "Oh my fucking god! Couldn't you have picked a normal fucking rapist? The problem would have been the same, the same! He would have raped you and it's all. He wouldn't have interfered with me at all! But no! Not satisfied with the guy fucking you, you had to choose a guy who would fuck me too! Holy crap!"  
"The victim doesn't fucking pick the rapist!” she screamed, as she was hit over and over again.  
I raised my eyebrows.  
"Let's see, little girl. You ... Ordinary people move through all kinds of environments, right? For nightclubs, for bottles, for role-playing clubs, for swinger environments ... Whatever the hell people within the law like, I am indifferent. Wherever you go, in all environments there is a high risk that you will be raped without being able to avoid it, whatever you do. From the way you talk, it seems that you are quite aware of this whole thing. I'm not sure if you have any kind of consolation to be able to choose, at least, the place of the rape ... It wouldn't make much sense, would you? Rape is rape. You don't choose to be raped. I do not want to be misunderstood. But you do choose where to go. No site is safe. Whether you get raped in the bathrooms of a filthy internet cafe or in a hidden room of a stinking sex shop, the result is the same ... I suppose you carry out your decisions that way, right? You are aware that you can be raped wherever you go and you do not care if it happens in one place or another. I can understand that. That, I think, I can understand."  
I grabbed her by the neck again.  
"What I can't understand is why the hell did you have to go to a hangout for higher-level psychics, you fucking asshole! You had a thousand places! Thousand! A thousand places where you can be raped fucking you and only you, without splashing me! Why, of all the fucking rapists in the world, had to be a fucking psychic? Why? Do you want to explain it to me, little girl? To what end do you go with such dodgy people? What did you miss? What the hell did you miss? Explain it to me, and explain it well, because I don't fucking understand anything!"  
"Let go! I don't know anything about a psychic!"  
I threw it on the ground.  
"Tell me the fucking truth. I'll know if you lie, little girl. You swear to me, by your fucking mother, you swear to me that you haven't moved on any illegal issue lately? Swear to me!"  
The little girl hesitated a bit before answering.  
"Does a squatter house count as illegal?"  
What?  
"Are you serious?"  
"All that happened to me in the squatter house ..."  
"A high-level psychic in the squatter house?" This is what I needed to hear! Some cocksucker has gained more power than he can handle, and instead of getting into some business of profit, he has preferred to spoil himself by raping everything he can in a despicable squatter house."  
Cirea wanted to leave, but she was paralyzed.  
"Well, very good! That! That is the one to blame! Leave me alone! Please let me go!"  
"Ha! Leave with more than confidential information about a criminal network whose existence nobody should fucking know anything about? That's impossible! I'd have to kill the motherfucker who has dominated your brain first and then erase your information. That would be an option, of course. Another option, faster, cleaner, and more liberating, is to open your fucking head now and burn your mutilated corpse after that. To tell the truth, I see a lot more advantages to this second option and I have no fucking idea why I should choose the other. Oh by the way! Don't try to open your mouth to convince me to let you live. You are not going to get it. You are not smarter than me; If I had come up with something to value your life for, I would have already decided in your favor, and I haven't. It's more; If you speak, if you beg for mercy or some shit like that, I swear that your death will be three times as painful. Little girl!"  
The mental domination I was subjecting to Cirea was enough to keep her from screaming. Despite this, the terror could still be seen a league on her face, to my satisfaction.  
"You do well to be scared. I don't have to leave you alive. And I think I would really enjoy your death. Get ready for the dodgiest psychological torture of your life ..."  
"Kill me now. Please. Why do not you kill me?"  
Good question. Was I getting mushy? An outburst of unnecessary solidarity? Not at all. I know myself well and I know I don't fall for that. But I hadn't killed her, right, and I had no reason to take that long. Uh. There was something that eluded me. The idea of just killing her caused me discomfort for some reason other than solidarity ...  
Oh, fuck!  
"Oh ... Trust me, if I don't, it's not out of compassion," I confessed, somewhat frustrated.  
"What? Won't you kill me?"  
"I'll probably kill you, little girl. You disgust me enough to end your life, even though your interference with my business has been minimal. I would see no objection to it. But if I kill you, there will be an unnecessary loose end. Someone who has dared to screw me more than you and who should not go for it. No, Ráncor of Jeix deserves respect."  
The girl did not know what she was talking about.  
"The motherfucker. The one who raped you. I have to kill him. He urges not only that he die ... but that it be a spectacular, noisy, exemplary death. I could extract from your brain all the necessary information to find it ... But I don't want to play it. No, little girl. You just put me in a fucking mess and you're going to get me out of it. I will not kill you. Not yet. Don't take it as pity. Right now, without further ado, you are going to forget about the psychiatrist's office and you are going to take me to that squatting house. You're going to tell me who the hell it was that raped you and I'll make him pay. I'll make you pay well."  
"I don't want to go back there. No Please. Kill me as soon as possible."  
"Dear elf, I remind you that between the two I am the only one with psychic powers to be able to force the other to do what I want."  
A withering look was enough to regain absolute mental control.  
"You're taking me to that bastard. You're going to take me, right?"  
"Of course."  
Peaches and cream.  
I'm not particularly stealthy on my missions, but to tell the truth, I have no reason to be. The show that I had put on in the psychiatrist's office had, by the fuck, to be striking to those in the waiting room. So much so that I hoped to have the police, firefighters, and asylum guards on top of him as soon as he left with Cirea.  
I was disappointed to see only the asylum guards. I was even more disappointed to see that there was no special terror on her faces and that her expectations awaited a simple bout of routine madness from some mental deviant. They weren't expecting me.  
I raised my hands and took a global look, and in a matter of seconds, I had more than twenty people mentally subdued.  
"You sons of bitches, you better not have a memory lock. Your memories of everything about me are now going to be screwed, and nothing, fucking nothing, is going to stop it. Will you obey, you assholes?"  
"We will obey," the twenty-plus voices answered in unison.  
Fuck. Goodness.  
"You will remain in a trance until I leave. As soon as I get out of here, you will continue with your normal fucking life, if the shitty existence you have can be called normal. Goodbye, bags of shit. Come on, Cirea! We have work to do, little girl."


	4. Ráncor of Jeix: Unnecessary Solidarity (Part 2)

It had been so long since my last stay in a squatting house! Out of pride, I vowed never to go back there. It is important to understand that I never walked around these places for leisure, but for business. Starting out in the world of crime involves horrific beginnings in which the criminal is condemned to rub shoulders with the most stinking scum. As soon as I was given the chance to trade bad pot afternoons with two-bit thugs in squatters for good cocaine nights with crime lords in private casinos, I couldn't refuse. A matter of pride, can it be otherwise? In a drug lord, of course, false modesty is the greatest lack of humility you can find. Pride is everywhere and trying to detest it is precisely the greatest proof that pride exists. And, paradoxical as it may be, that same pride had led me, once again, to a squatter house.  
People looked at me in horror, but not because they knew who I was or what I wanted, but because of my physical appearance. It is very common that people prefer to live in hypersexuality. Any intrusion of socially deformed beings like me in his world of pornographic fantasies is the first cause of fright. And being the first cause of horror could be very satisfying.  
It happens that being a second — and much more powerful — cause of fright is even more satisfying.  
The squatters were crowded into something like a concert hall in which a certain rock and roll group, or whatever the hell it was, played quite unnecessary melodies. I raised my arms and took a global look, and the concert stopped.  
They were all in a trance. I forced them to kneel. Then I gave them back consciousness, but not will. I wanted them to be aware of the show.  
"Cirea!" I exclaimed, turning to my companion. "I want you to show me who the fuck is the motherfucker who screwed me up."  
Trembling, the elf pointed to the drummer of the group that was polluting the atmosphere with his disgusting music. A guy with hair and a gorilla face. It didn't take long for me to deduce that it was a daddy's little boy who liked to appear rebellious, but he had extra money. Some details revealed it. He was risking my neck that it had been the money, precisely, what had allowed him to obtain certain magical trinkets that gave him his psychic powers.  
I approached him.  
"Do you know who I am?"  
He shook his head, puzzled. Everyone present must have known that what was happening was not good, but that son of a bitch had to know it more precisely.  
"It turns out that I do know who you are. Your name is Chaund. And from what I see, you're a rock and roll drummer, right?"  
He did not answer.  
I pulled out my blaster and pointed it at the fucking nape. She peed her pants.  
"Answer the fucking time, you miserable dog! Answer back!" I screamed.  
"I'm a drummer," he said between sobs. "But not rock and roll. I'm a grunge drummer."  
I laughed.  
"Grunge!" Grunge! What the hell is grunge? Do you think that matters to me? Bah! Grimy music of inferior people, that's what it is. Anything other than electronic music that I can get my ass high with is fucking shit, I said! Right, bag of shit? Right?"  
He did not answer.  
A blaster shot near his ear was enough to make him speak. He could have mastered it mentally — even more so — but this was already proving fun enough.  
"I asked you a question, and since you don't have the decency to answer it, I swear to God I'm blowing your fucking brains out now! The answer, subhuman! Isn't it true that your shitty music is useless and should die? Isn't it true that there should only be electronic music that I, Ráncor of Jeix, listen to while taking drugs? Isn't that right, shit?"  
"Yes!" He sobbed. "All that is true!"  
Wonderful! An impeccable function. What perfection! The massive sobs and screams of the rest of the mentally dominated squatters were even more delicious than the electronic music he was talking about. So much was my happiness that, as a celebration, I dumped a gram of the best cocaine on the back of my blaster and snorted it in front of everyone.  
"Did you expect this, little boy?" I told.  
"What?"  
"Did you expect your shit to have these consequences? Or did you directly assume that nothing was going to happen? I know exactly what you have on your finger. A magic ring. Something that gives you too much potential for yourself. Without it, I doubt you could hypnotize a fly. I imagine it had to come to your hands by chance. But tell me the truth, did you really think that such power could be displayed without expecting consequences?"  
I mentally forced him to give me the ring and picked it up with satisfaction. Now he must not have a magical potential superior to that of the rest of those present.  
"You've gotten yourself where you didn't want to, boy. The world of the powerful is different from ordinary people. The castes are the castes! A cat cannot pretend to be a lion. You had a shitty life, but it was life! And now you're going to lose it! Was it that hard, boy? Settling for your shit, your grunge bands, your joints, your cis and straight man privileges? Fuck! You could rape every woman you wanted without a fucking magic hypnosis ring! The dominant culture and the laws put it in your face, motherfucker!"  
I grabbed his neck and forced him to look me in the face.  
"The dominant culture and the laws had put it in your face to rape everything you wanted without making troubles to Ráncor of Jéix. And I would have left you alone! I can assure you that I am not a sister of charity. I do not intend to avenge Cirea with anything I do. I don't care about her ... Maybe I'll kill her after finishing with you! You could rape anything you wanted, kid. What's more, maybe we would have gotten along! Perhaps, having known us for years, I could have mentally subdued you a few victims for money ... Or passed you drugs, which I see you like a lot! I used to be a drug dealer, and I have good memories of it all. Now, however, I dedicate myself to more lucrative activities… such as blackmailing high officials of Isoras! But in his day ... Oh, in his day! Passing marijuana has always seemed unworthy to me, but, I don't know, do you like cocaine?"  
I had to master his mind again for him to answer me.  
"Yes," he said with difficulty, "I like it."  
"Notice…! We could have been friends and everything! Oh well, not really. I'm not going to get your hopes up. At this point, who the hell would have the balls to think that a customer is a friend? Nothing, nothing, there is no meaning. But it would be better! Maybe I would be your official dealer, your matchmaker, your victim-subduer… Not your fucking assassin! Seriously, man, was it so hard for you? Why the hell couldn't you settle for being a rapist protected by society, normal and ordinary? Why did you want to be a sketchy psychic? Didn't it occur to you that, with that power, perhaps you entered a league that you should never enter? You see, you piece of garbage with legs, I just want you to do an exercise in empathy. Put yourself in my place! Shitty people, common, like Cirea, or like all the motherfuckers here ... What interest can they have for people like me? They are nothing more than a powerless rock, irrelevant. But the moment you get the slightest bit of magic power or whatever it is ... You start making noise, you know? And when noise is made it is wise to be well supported to make all the noise you want without fear. Or you are in a mafia, in a zaibatsu, or in some movement of people to protect you ..."  
A blaster shot to the shoulder. He screeched.  
"Or are you screwed, motherfucker! For a ring! For one fucking magic ring, you've spoiled everything! Oh, fuck ya! Do you think I didn't start the same way? Do you think that I got my power through stupid hours of meditation, like the absurd monks of the Jéix monastery, where I was born? Of course not, damn it! Since I can remember I learned well that all that rubbish that they say about patience and discipline is nothing more than bullshit. It was clear to me that I would get a great magical power ... But based on arcane trinkets that would supply me with power directly! No meditation, no study, no training! All of that is mediocre."  
I held the ring and looked at it longingly.  
"I'd swear I had one like this back in the day! Almost sure! I wasn't born a hell of a mental sorceress, you know? I started out being more mediocre than you. For something one starts! Rings like this are one step. I stole it. You probably bought it from your parents. The same ring can change so much depending on the prudence of whoever handles it ...! Unlike you, I was clear from the beginning that I couldn't make noise with the ring. My power was greater than that of the normal people but less than that of the big people, do you get me? If I attracted attention and if I tried to antagonize some big shot, I would die. I waited and tried to climb progressively ... And I'm still at it! It never, asshole, it never occurred to me to touch the balls of someone who could kill me with just one gesture, me and my whole fucking family! And that's just what you just did!"  
A new mental order was enough to keep her mouth shut. He had heard enough already. After that, I turned to the others with a mocking smile.  
"Is there anyone here who knows some fire magic? I'm not asking for a fucking pyromancer! As long as you know enough magic to light the bad marijuana joints you smoke, that's enough for me!"  
A kind of hippie raised his hand, the kind who say that through fire the human being unites with the chakras of his ancestors and shit like that. I spat in his face just for fun.  
"You're going to cast a fire spell on this fucking ring. That it burns well. I want you to make it red hot. Do not worry about my hands! My gloves are elemental resistance. I'm not going to burn!"  
Said and done. Before long he had the ring red hot. I reached down and placed it on Chaund's forehead, creating a terrible mark and an even uglier wound. I kept marking different areas of his skin with the fucking ring, giving him new - and very fun - tattoos, until I got bored. I put the ring away and turned back to my mind slaves.  
"Of all the women here, who have been raped by this human waste?"  
Despite using a mental subjugation spell, there were no responses. I tried to formulate the question in another way.  
"Who have been raped by this human waste, understanding that rape includes all kinds of sexual activity with a man in a state of drunkenness, emotional disorder, or any other type of condition that limits the freedom of the victims?"  
Except for a little more than three girls, all those present raised their hands. I nodded.  
"Very well. Of all of you, who has a greater emotional connection with that asshole, despite being your rapist?"  
Under normal conditions they would have lied, covering for each other and other paraphernalia, but under my mind control, it was impossible. I smiled and drew the enchanted dagger from my belt.  
"What you see here is the host. It can cut thousands of times, it never loses its edge."  
I approached Chaund's girlfriend.  
"You're curious, aren't you?"  
She didn't answer her — she had blocked her vocal cords. I forced her to give her a nod.  
"Oh, here I am to solve your curiosity! Taking! Here, hold this dagger!"  
I had to give her new mental orders so that her hand wouldn't shake as she held it.  
"I suppose you've taken your boyfriend's clothes off numerous times, right? Let's go. Undress him."  
She obeyed her with alacrity, lacking at all times the eroticism that she, she supposed, she must have had other times when she took off her boyfriend's clothes. Then I mentally forced her to slice off her genitals with the dagger she had lent him. After that she issued a mental command to Chaund that blocked the breathing process through her nose, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. This made it much easier for that son of a bitch to die drowned in terrible suffering when her girlfriend introduced her severed and bloody genitals into her mouth.  
I sighed in relief. The only remaining loose end was already tied up. I could now rest and continue my mission. Nothing should prevent him from erasing Cirea's memories. In an effort to be economical and save time I tried to do a massive erasure of memories, although I tried to make this erasure selective. My sadism forced me back into another one of those gruesome games with great brain action that I love so much.  
"The moment I leave this house, you will remember everything that happened," I began to explain, "but everything about me will be erased. Let me explain: you will know that someone with psychic powers has come to sink the life of that subhuman bastard, but you will not know his name, or his appearance, or his tone of voice, or anything at all. That goes for you too, Cirea. You will remember the entire incident at the psychiatric hospital, with hairs and signs, but you will know absolutely nothing about the person who put you through so badly that time. Goodbye!"  
That said, I turned around to leave, but Cirea stopped me.  
"Wait! So ... will you spare my life?” she told me, full of tears.  
Something like this had happened to me in my life and I couldn't quite assimilate it.  
"What? I do not get it. Can't you see I didn't kill you, you stupid mindless? Who the hell can do what you just did? I mean, think about it. You are looking at someone fucking powerful who has considered the possibility of killing you, and do you have the balls to go tell him what you just told me? I don't know ... 'Hey, he forgot to kill me, in the end, you're going to do it or not?' Seriously? Really, girl? What if I change my mind now? My intention was to erase all the memories relating to me so that no one could inspect your mind in the future. I had no need to kill you by being able to control your memory, but I think you have given me reason enough to be cruel and kill you right now."  
She paled and screeched and kicked, I don't remember in that order exactly, but it was fun.  
"Let's see, if you think I've given up the idea of being cruel to you, you must be very naive," I said, armed with serenity and professionalism. "At no time did I forget that; You have made me waste too much time, and whoever wastes Ráncor of Jéix too much time ends up paying for it. But death, under the circumstances, would be more of an act of mercy than cruelty. As far as I know, your brain was already damaged in itself if you had to go to the asylum. Besides that, everything you have witnessed today seems to me to be enough to either exacerbate all the psychopathologies that your brain harbors to the point of becoming incurable or generating new psychopathologies that drag you into a state of absolute discomfort from which you can never escape. As if this were not enough, I have to tell you that during all this time I have probably thrown a new curse on you, consisting of a new mental illness that your brain will begin to develop from this precise moment. I will not tell you what disease it is, since omitting that information will allow your mind to develop a kind of paranoia and delusions as you obsess overthinking what disease it could be. In fact, it is possible that you have not really implanted any new pathology, and that everything I am saying is no more than a bluff, but a sufficient bluff that your paranoid mind can generate the mental ailment on its own. Isn't it magnificent? Having said all this, you can understand that giving you death would be an act of excessive mercy for Ráncor de Jéix, and I am totally sure that, when I finish speaking and give your vocal cords permission to answer me, you will kneel and beg me. death, a death that, of course, I will not give you."  
And it happened exactly like that. I got out of there.  
I have to admit that it was extremely fun playing those levels with Cirea and I would have really liked to have really done all of that, to have left her alive with such terrible memories. But strategically it didn't suit me.  
The people of the squatter house could perfectly remember that an unknown person had appeared with the intention of capping Chaund's macho man; that would not bring me any problem. If the IsorasCOPS psychics were looking to investigate me, there was no point in investigating a squatter house that, a priori, had no relation to my affairs. As a result, they could still harbor the modified memories I had supplied.  
But with Cirea it was different. The girl had seen everything at the mental hospital, and her name was listed in Rasko's clinic databases as a client of Dr. Chaant. If the Isoras' wires just get crossed, and it probably would, they would end up investigating all of Dr. Chaant's clients, and perhaps they would find Cirea. This, of course, she would not remember or my name, or my appearance, or anything, but my modus operandi would not go out of her brain.  
And my modus operandi was too big of a clue for the IsorasCOPS psychics. There was too much information about me in the intelligence databases of almost any zaibatsu. Ultimately, Cirea was a loose end, and he had to finish her off.  
And it fucked me. I didn't want to kill her. I insist that killing her would have been pious, supportive, and I wanted to see her suffer. I had rejoiced so much at the idea of making her suffer, but at all times I had tortured her knowing that she was going to get rid of her. No traumatic experiences would affect her future. No hypothetical mental illnesses to develop either by psychic magic or by paranoia. I had invented everything to enjoy a fleeting moment, to fantasize about a situation that could not take place.  
But it was time to end my fantasy and get serious. I had to kill Cirea, that is, I had a bit of unnecessary solidarity. Well, it was actually quite necessary. But given the circumstances ... What difference did it make. Was anything going to change at this point? I could display really unnecessary solidarity and the result was going to be the same. Besides, I was lazy, and I didn't feel like hiding a corpse or removing more evidence. I was already late, and I needed to finish as soon as possible.  
I found Cirea crying her eyes out on a park bench near the squatter house. I walked over to her and sat next to her. As she did not remember anything about me, she did not show signs of terror when she saw me, but I could observe a terrible discomfort in her eyes.  
"Sorry" she said, "I think I'd better get out of here. I want to be alone. They have hurt me ... Much damage."  
It's great. I had done it to her and she had no idea.  
I sighed and hypnotized her again.  
"Cirea," I said, "they're going to screw the selective memories I've implanted in you. Nothing to remember what happened 'half'. You won't fucking remember anything. Nothing at all. All the traumatic experiences that you have lived, from the moment of the psychiatric, are erased. Get the trauma fuck off. Fuck."  
I kept her in a trance stage at all times. I was distressed at the prospect of seeing Cirea, conscious, thanking me between whimpers.  
She was about to tell her that she would come out of her trance under my new instructions in five minutes, but… Oh, fucking shit. If she was going to be solitary unnecessarily, she had to do it right, right?  
"Besides," I said, "you'll never have sex with anyone while drunk. Trust me, my mental orders go beyond any drunken state. Regarding when you have sober sex ... You will make sure, in case of fucking with men, to do only with men who do not harbor any kind of feeling of conscious superiority over women and who are willing to iron out any attitude that reveals a feeling of unconscious superiority."  
I should have gone by now. But no. There was still more unnecessary solidarity. Fuck!  
"Ah," I said, "and never, I emphasize, you will never feel inferior to a man, consciously or unconsciously. Never. In fact, you will not feel inferior to anyone. You will always have high self-esteem. And all those memories that you store about traumatic situations that make you feel inferior for any reason ... You will stop taking them seriously. You will always have your head held high. Goodbye, Cirea. I can't do enough for you. The concept of happiness is too utopian to be able to manipulate your brain to make you happy."


	5. Ráncor of Jeix: Unnecessary Solidarity (Part 3)

"You're late," Kato told me as I walked in, without lifting her head from her computer screen.  
The original formation was gathered there. The three of us and no one else. This is how things work well. More people would be a real nuisance. If waiting for me was an ordeal, it would be even less profitable to wait for a thousand more people.  
"I had to tie up some loose ends," I said.  
Kato smiled. He motioned for me to take a seat next to the Boomie.  
"The Boomie's homework was a lot cooler than yours," he said, "and he was here perfectly on time. With excellent results, by the way. Just watch the news!"  
He pointed to the TV screen and I read the headline. High-caliber detonations in Boe Yil Coriso. Hundreds of victims, drama, drama. Everything that had to be razed was razed more than enough.  
"Damn," I said, lighting another joint, "that's nice. Waoh, Boomie, waoh.  
I patted my colleague on the back and he looked at me with his usual aseptic expression.  
"Rancor, I've been feeling palpitations in my chest since yesterday," he said, ignoring my compliments, "do you think it could be serious? I can't calm down. Come on, tell me it's not serious, really. I just can't stop thinking about it. What if I'm going to have a heart attack?"  
"Ignore him," Kato chimed in, "it's been since he came up with that bullshit."  
I shrugged my shoulders.  
"Boomie, for you to have a heart attack you would have to have a heart."  
"But what if it's something serious?"  
"You would have to be an organic entity! Good heavens… Anyway, Kato, here's everything. The psychiatrist's reports. The information obtained has been more than worth it, go."  
I noticed then that Kato had the account book open on his computer. I frowned.  
"Very good," he told me, grabbing the reports. "Hey? Holy shit, Ráncor, this is serious. Take it now! We are going to do better than I expected. Between this and the cleaning that our beloved Boomie has done us… We are going to get richs. I think our minds can't even take in that much money. Ah, speaking of money! The advance from Obegi has arrived. Here's your part."  
He handed me a wad of bills. I held it and looked at it strangely.  
"Do you keep the accounts now, Kato?" I said, pointing to his computer screen. "The Boomie has always taken care of that."  
"What difference does it make? The Boomie doesn't care if I take care of it."  
"But I do." You should be scrutinizing magic moves, not account books!"  
Oh, Kato, this is what you stooped to? Seriously? I was minimally confident that this man would not lose his particular overview of him so soon.  
"Rancor, you get lost in the details. Stop fucking around with nonsense and focus. Listen, at this point now everything is going smoothly. Tomorrow morning a car will come to take us to Tircei. Once there ... You can get used to the idea of where the shots are going to go. And it's going to be awesome, believe me, fucking awesome. The best we are going to see so far."  
"Tircei? I imagined. Oh shit, by the way! Since we are going there you have reminded me of something important to say to you. Look at the psychiatrist's reports. Eriobe has broken more than necessary. I have marked a specific page for you."  
"Uh?" Kato muttered, stopping to look at the marked page. "Ah, that. You can look at it later."  
I lowered my sunglasses and looked into his eyes.  
"Are we crazy, Kato? Where was the Kato I originally joined? I remind you that before you proclaimed very proud all that you wanted to become 'a great magician'."  
"I will become a great magician!"  
That was what caught my attention from Kato, honestly. Absolutely nothing else.  
It was a few years ago. I was leading a criminal gang, back in Domain Rearis, when Domain Rearis still existed, long before Domain Cilco ate it up. I had over a hundred bandits under my command. Half were mentally subdued; the other half plunged into the deepest of follies, which could be quite effective. My base of operations was a robbed mansion.  
There was a day when two independent mercenaries under Rearis broke into me: Kato and the Boomie. It was not the first time that enemies had sneaked into me and I did not give it much importance. However, it was more entertaining than I expected. I was left alone in the control room, watching everything that happened through the cameras. Those two weren't bad. They made their way through the corridors of the mansion, taking down my men with admirable ease.  
I could have escaped from there as soon as I wanted. My mansion had thousands of secret passageways that could never have been discovered. But I decided to stay: it promised to be worth it.  
When Kato and the Boomie burst into the control room, I, sitting in my gigantic armchair, burst out cheerfully clapping my hands.  
"Uoh! Bravo, bravo, bravo! It has been a perfect display of skill. You have entertained me, and that's more than most humans have done for me! But I'm going, to be honest with you. You have no chance of beating me. And I have no special interest in ending your lives or destroying your sanity. Therefore, by way of thanks, I propose a deal. I've gathered enough evidence to fake a death. I will give you such evidence and you will present it to RearisCOPS. You will collect the bounty on my head and I will get out of here, and I will not appear again in my life in the Rearis Domain. So, everyone happy. You collect the reward and I avoid having to kill or destroy the lives of these two little characters who have provided me with so much entertainment. Sounds good to you?"  
At that moment Kato held his wizard staff threateningly.  
"You speak with great pride, Rancor, and you assume that I have no chance in combat against you! But my name is Kato, and I will become a great magician!"  
"What?"  
That was new for me. The people of the world that I knew did not want to become "great magicians". I'm lying, there are a lot of people who work their brains out to get magic by hand and become great magicians. Myself, once, with the subject of mental magic. But in neither case is becoming magicians the end, but the means. You don't say you "want to be a great wizard." You say you want to "hold a high position in a zaibatsu", or "create your own criminal empire", or "get power to take on I don't know what motherfucker", or just "make money", or - much more basic - " get sex ”.  
"Kato, what you just said shows that you have a higher capacity for abstract thinking than most humans."  
Kato and the Boomie looked at each other, confused.  
"People," I began to explain, "can gain power, and that power can manifest itself in many different ways. A president of a zaibatsu is powerful. A cisgender man, by virtue of being in the privileged sex-gender combination, is powerful. A billionaire is powerful. A leader of great armies is powerful. And, of course, a great magician is powerful. But there is something that differentiates great magicians from others. Power tends to be too relative and changeable. You can be the president of a zaibatsu today. But so what? A title on paper! Tomorrow that zaibatsu can be destroyed and suddenly your power is zero. The same goes for money. If tomorrow they implement a military or communist regime in which the worth of people is measured by other standards, the money will be of little use to you. The same happens if you have the privileges of a man; tomorrow, and God willing, patriarchy can be abolished, and being a man as such does not have to bring you any benefit. Not to mention the warriors who train in physical combat! You can be as hunk as you want, your destruction capabilities will be very limited unless you have many under your command. And having many under your command can change at any time. Yes, there is the issue of magic items, weapons, armor, potions, rings, and other shit that warriors wear ... But items can be lost too, and the mighty warrior becomes a real shit.  
But it is different with the great magicians. A great magician is going to be a great magician regardless of whether or not he has money or social position. Do they establish a communist regime? Are you kicked out of your zaibatsu? Does he lose all the soldiers he had under his command? Does he lose his oppressive cisgender macho privileges? The great magician doesn't care. A great magician is still a great magician. A great magician can continue to summon firestorms to devastate populations on the fringes of everything else, he can keep raising armies of zombies on the fringes of everything else ... Or he can continue to dominate the brains of the entire populations on the fringes of everything else, as I do."  
I walked over to Kato and put my hands on his shoulders. I smiled.  
"Definitely; the great magicians, and I am a good proof of it, they are great sons of bitches, constant pain in the ass, a nuisance that never disappears. A fucking danger, come on. Just as I am! But I, friend Kato, was never clear that I was going to become a great magician, no, no, nothing like that. It just came up, it suited me. And look what I am now ...! What will you be then? You, who are clear from the beginning that you want to be a great magician! I became a great magician without being clear about it, by pure chance, and I have ended up being a nuisance in the ass of many ... What are you, Kato? A potential danger, of course, a potential danger that I don't have to tolerate."  
The future great wizard was really uncomfortable. The Boomie, for his part, was apparently unmoved. I didn't notice much of him.  
"Where the hell do you want to go?" He told me.  
"I want to get, friend Kato, that a moment ago I was completely willing to spare your life. But now, knowing that your intention is to become 'a great magician' ... Oh, it's not that easy. It is not wise to let a potential hazard loose. In other words, it is convenient for me to kill you now that you are not yet 'a great magician', because when you are, you may bust my balls and I may not be able to kill you, do you understand?"  
He jerked away from me and pointed his cane at me.  
"Kill me ...! Try it if you can! As powerful as you are, I am not so clear that you can end the Boomie and me at the same time!"  
I shrugged peacefully.  
"Hey, Kato! I said that I should kill you. That suits me! That doesn't mean I'm going to kill you, huh? But let's put it that I don't kill you. Let's put it that I have an unnecessary solidarity attack and I am not killing you. Let's get on, even better ... In that my attack of unnecessary solidarity is fucking crazy and excessive to the point of saying, what do I know, that I'm not only going to spare your life, but I'm going to join you. Your partnership of two would become a partnership of three. I do not know, in order to spare the life of a potential great magician ... I should make this one become my ally, don't you think?"  
So was my story with Kato in Domain Rearis. That nostalgia! What times! Why did you have to change so much, Kato, you fucking son of a bitch? You were determined to be a great wizard, a great wizard! Not a businessman! You disappoint me, buddy, asshole, you bastard. Why does everything good have to go to hell in such a pathetic way?  
You got lost, Kato, you got lost. You didn't know how to be strong. You strayed. You lost your identity. You lost everything. And you started to feel sorry. Pain! That's what you provoked by standing in front of that fucking ledger, assigning yourself a task that the Boomie had to carry out just for the love of money.  
"Kato," I said, coming back to the present, "the page I marked for you in the psychiatrist's report refers to a magical grimoire of great power. It indicates with total clarity where it is, and it catches us in passing! For the love of God, Kato! Do you think before you speak? We should stop by! He is locked in a dungeon full of mediocre monsters ... We only got over it! It'll be fucking worth it!"  
"I'm telling you, Rancor, my priority right now is not to get grimoires ... let's save it for the future if anything. Let's focus on what's important."  
"Focus on what's important! Focus on what's important! You speak as if there is something more important than obtaining arcane grimoires. Bah! Fuck you, Kato, we're going to the Oeris Luscat dungeon whether you like it or not! You don't want the grimoire? Well, I don't care, I'll keep it! I want it! But let's go to the dungeon!"  
"Come on, Ráncor, don't fuck around!" Kato yelled wearily. "What the hell would you want a grimoire of… uh… Geomancy and tectonic chaos for? When the hell did you get started in earth magic?"  
"Not me, but you said that an earthquake ..."  
"And hit it! Now I'm not interested in that grimoire! What do not you understand? Tomorrow we will go to Tircei in one go. One!"  
I started to grumble as I liked.  
"Come on, Kato, I'm looking forward to it. Fuck! Boomie! Don't you want the grimoire? It's fucking awesome and we have it fucking easy!"  
But the Boomie was still immersed in his mental scratches on the palpitations and I don't know what the fuck.  
"A grimoire? Hey? Ráncor, do you think I can die from these palpitations? I'm very afraid. Come on, tell me it's not serious."  
And I got fed up.  
"Bah! Fuck you. I get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow. And really, Kato, think about going to the dungeon. With your current power, it would take less time to take out the monsters there than to jerk off."  
"Hey! Where are you going?" Kato protested. "I was going to tell you to watch a movie now. The Boomie has brought one that they say is very good ..."  
"Oh, come on."  
"But where are you going?"  
"To melt me everything you've paid me in drugs!"  
"Oh, a very mature attitude!"  
"Fuck you, Kato! I'll be late. See you tomorrow."  
I left the safe house with haste and slipped through the crowds of the big city. It was a beautiful night. I headed to the most degrading and gangster-ridden den I could find, where I intended to spend the rest of the night high, immersed in electronic music and drugs of all kinds.


	6. Raltia the Chosen-One: [Insert Title Cliché (...)]

[INSERT TITLE CLICHÉ OF A FANTASTIC YOUTH NOVEL FULL OF ABSURD MAGIC, GOOD-BAD DICOTOMIES, PREDICTABLE PLOTS, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCE, PSEUDOEROTIC AND FALOCENTRIC SCENES, MICRO-SEXISM, MACRO-SEXISM, AND DEVOID OF ALL POSSIBLE VERISIMILITUDE]

[Insert a cliché and topical character presentation in which the protagonist, Raltia, is presented as a typical girl, blurred and insecure, with whom readers aged around fifteen can easily identify.]  
[Insert a description of Raltia's life at the beginning of the novel, mediocre and boring, similar to that of her future readers, but point out at all times that events are going to happen that will change everything.]  
[Insert passage in which it is revealed that Raltia is a Chosen-One, with all the implications that this entails, and try to automatically make her feel like a special girl and superior to others, and write the passage in a way that potential readers, Who had identified with Raltia before, can imagine that all of this is happening to themselves so that they can feel special and forget for a moment about their miserable stocks, which, according to market statistics, is remarkably profitable. ]  
[Insert passage in which Raltia begins to attend a special magic school for Chosen-Ones, and describe the magic school using all the clichés that romanticize magic schools in young adult novels, and idealize the life of magic schools as a whole as possible, and to present magic schools as a place to get lots of opportunities, profitable future jobs, lots of sex, and hypothetical everlasting and perfect love.]  
[Insert passage in which Raltia's visit to a college party is narrated, and romanticize the college parties as much as possible, and not show any kind of moral objection when narrating how Raltia goes into a drunken state after ingesting several pints of beer, no, at, on the contrary, idealize the uncontrolled consumption of pints of beer by the oppressed sex and contribute to the normalization of said social phenomenon.]  
[Insert description of Geiher that is sufficient to justify, in relation to the fact that this will be read by clearly impressionable fifteen-year-old girls, that Raltia falls madly in love with Geiher, understanding by infatuation sexual attraction followed by the need to be possessed in all imaginable senses, and make Geiher describe him as a young man totally akin to the stereotype of Western male beauty, and also describe him as a young man of great masculinity and virility, and achieve, in relation to the fact that this is going to be read by girls of fifteen years clearly impressionable, that the readers, after reading the description, know, consciously or unconsciously, that Geiher is superior, by the fact of being a man and possessing great masculinity, to all existing and existing women, and that any macho attitude that he has from now on is not only justified but will be seen as especially manly and attractive.]  
[Insert passage in which Geiher manages to seduce Raltia to have sex with her, that is, to rape her, since Raltia was in a drunken state, but to romanticize the rape at all times and exalt Geiher's domineering and inconsiderate attitude, and make Raltia fall madly in love, and do it in a way that any reader, who has probably been through such situations, can easily identify.]  
[Insert passage in which the relationship between Raltia and Geiher is consolidated, and do not show the slightest critical attitude to the fact that said relationship began as a result of a rape.]  
[Insert a passage in which it is narrated how Raltia maximizes her abilities as a Chosen-One, which is a job success for her, and narrate said passage constantly emphasizing Raltia's personal effort, ignoring at all times that the circumstances and her condition of Chosen-One have been in her favor, and exaggerate at all times the challenges that Raltia has to face in order to give the protagonist greater merit than she has.]  
[Insert description of the main villain of the novel, Cirea, and portray her as a terrible jealous elf who cannot bear that Raltia has a happy relationship with Geiher and who intends to ruin her by inventing lies about Geiher being mysoginist, and emphasize at all times that Cirea's judgments of Geiher are lies, and to use latent elvenphobia in future female readers to stimulate revulsion towards Cirea.]  
[Insert passage in which Raltia uses her Chosen-One powers to prevent Cirea from ending her relationship with Geiher, and exaggerate at all times the effort Raltia makes to carry out such a thing despite being her Chosen-One and Cirea being a simple elf without any power, and do not emphasize at any time that using her powers in this way means that Geiher can continue to mistreat her at will without anyone or anything preventing him.]  
[Insert passage, as a final touch, in which Raltia and Geiher decide to conclude their happy story by having a child, and may conclude with a family, which is the usual model of life to which the inhabitants of the Rasko Domain aspire.]  
[Insert final dramatic plot twist in which it is revealed that being Chosen-One means not being able to have children, and making that situation mean a lot of pain for Raltia, and highlighting Geiher's role as a man with the ability to support and comfort his partner despite the fact that support provided is minimal and based primarily on sex.]  
[Insert a new plot twist ending in which the resolution is made to adopt a child, named Enusor of Kóverax, and end the novel with the adoption of this child as a sign of hope for the future.]

Miss Raltia 7483:

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END

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

Thank you very much for having read this far! If you liked this novel, don't forget to give me kudos and comments. Feedback is well received! For the rest, the Enusor of Kóverax series saga will continue in the novel "It's all remain in family", which will soon begin to be published on Ao3. Subscribe to my user to be aware of when it is published! ;)


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